Blinded
by corneroffandom
Summary: Set late February. When both Heath and Wade are injured, they decide to work together to help each other through.


He moans and writhes against the floor for awhile, feeling the cool metal of the locker behind him. All he can focus on is the stinging pain in his eyes, barely reacting as Santino Marella steps over him to leave the room. "I can't see," he mumbles, feeling strangely detached from himself. "I..." His fingers are scrambling around over the nearby benches, cool locker doors, anything in reach, but he can't grasp where he's at, what exactly happened. Things had been fine a bit ago, but now... _now..._

He somehow makes it to his feet, stumbles around until he miraculously feels the door handle under his fingers. Twisting it hard enough to break it clean off, he trips out of the room and catches himself on the opposing wall, groaning slightly as his face stings at the unexpected impact. The hallway seems to mute as everyone around freezes, watching him struggle and thrash against the cool concrete. "Help," he moans, his eyes fluttering needlessly- he can't see even the smallest bit of light. Not for the first time since the Corre's end, he misses having people around willing to actually help instead of stand by and whisper or giggle.

After a few horrifyingly dark moments, a hand hesitantly rests on his elbow and as he turns his face towards its owner, quiet Spanish washes over him, confusing him further. He can't speak or understand it, shaking his head slightly. The Spanish immediately changes to stuttery, uncertain English and he finally recognizes the voice as Ricardo Rodriguez'. "You cannot see?"

"No," he mumbles, reaching out blindly for the slightly shorter man and gripping him by the collar after a few empty grabs at thin air. "Can you... just... help me to the trainer's?" When there is no immediate answer, he worries even worse that he's going to be left here with absolutely no help. "At least just make sure I don't run into a wall or anything?" He's thisclose to begging, he knows, but his face is aching and his eyes are stinging even though they're closed and he's more scared than he's been in a very, very long time. "Ricardo, man, please."

"Fine, fine, come." Ricardo taps him on the wrist before pressing Heath's hand to his arm, waiting until the redhead takes the hint and wraps his fingers around his elbow to lead Heath down the hallway as various technicians and other wrestlers watch quietly, all mocking of Heath stopped for the time being as they ponder what Santino had possibly inadvertantly just done. Alberto Del Rio's ring announcer finally finds the trainer's room, pushing the door open. "We're here," he tells the other man, who has been uncharacteristically silent the whole time they've walked.

"Thank you," Heath whispers, sounding sincere.

Surprised, Ricardo nods before going a little further into the room, looking for a relatively safe place for Heath to sit and wait. "Here, sit, a chair is right here." As soon as he's settled, the Mexican hesitates a little longer. "Is there... anything else I can do while you wait?" Alberto is still out with his injury and the only reason Ricardo is here is to further along the dissension between Teddy Long and John Laurinaitis from behind the scenes so perhaps Del Rio can get a better _in_ upon his return with whomever is in charge. Being here alone only makes him feel even more useless so if helping Heath will keep him occupied and content, then so be it.

"N, no. I... I'll be alright." He's staring blindly ahead, the delicate skin around his eyes raw and almost... blistering around where the Cobra had spat barely ten minutes beforehand. Ricardo shakes his head, wondering what exactly he had been struck with; the way he had responded, whatever it was must be very toxic. Or something he's highly allergic to...

"Very well, I have to go handle some business but if I see the trainer, I'll tell him you're in here." He hesitates, pausing at the door. Uncertain what to say to the blinded man, he shakes his head with a grim sigh and leaves the room.

Heath's face has moved past stinging to plainly painful burning when finally the office door clicks open. "Doc?" he asks immediately, holding his breath.

"Heath?" the trainer greets him, stepping closer. "What can I do for you?"

He takes a deep breath, releasing it gustily. "I, I can't see. Please help me."

Ricardo comes to check on him upon the show's end, his business all but completed. The trainer is standing over him, eyedrops in hand and a deep frown on his aged face. "How is he?" he asks softly, unsettled by the expressions on both men's faces.

"There is no change," the trainer says. "I've put a call in, a specialist will be waiting to see him tomorrow once he's back in Florida."

Ricardo takes a breath, nodding slightly. "Is there anything you can do for him now?" It's weirding him out to see Heath staring blankly through him, unaware of where he's looking.

"I have some ointment for where the liquid came in contact with his skin. Other than that, there's not a lot we can do for his eyes until the specialist sees him- I would ordinarily encourage a trip to the ER but there's probably very little they could do for him that I haven't already." He grabs a box from a nearby cabinet and settles closer to Heath, shifting his face so they're eye to eye. "For now, we're going to put gauze over your eyes to protect them, alright, Heath?"

"Fine," he says dully, barely flinching when the trainer's hands work deftly to attach the gauze, avoiding the raw, blistered sections of skin by taping the fabric to the sides of his face.

"Is that alright?" he asks, smoothing it down and stepping back to analyze his handiwork.

"It feels as well as can be expected," Heath responds, feeling around with one hand as he tries to make sure nothing's in his way as he regains his balance uncertainly. Ricardo watches on with a troubled frown as the older man turns his head this way and that, despite not being able to see. "Ricardo? Are you still here?"

"Ah, yes?" he asks, blinking in surprise. "What do you need, Heath?"

The bright haired man hesitates, obviously uncomfortable with what he's about to ask, but finally... "Would you mind, um. Could you..." He curses under his breath, his displeasure with all of this visible even with his eyes blocked from view. "Could you help me to my hotel room? Unless you're busy, I just... there's no one else I can ask, really, and..."

"Of course," Ricardo agrees after a moment of thought. "I believe we are staying in the same hotel. It's no trouble." Watching as Heath's whole body relaxes slightly makes it all worth it as he waits patiently, nudging Heath softly to show where he's standing before holding out his arm as he'd seen done in TV shows, taking a deep breath as the injured man wraps his fingers uncertainly around it. "This is ok?"

"Yeah, it's fine. Just... stop me if I'm about to walk into something or someone, ok?" It's slow going, Ricardo's awareness doubled as he watches for anything ahead of them that might cause issues for Heath, softly urging him to step faster or higher whenever there are potential hazards in the path. He's helped Alberto through various injuries during his career, the most recent one seeing him pushing the Mexican Aristocrat around in a wheelchair, but none are quite like this, a full loss of a very vital sense. He's never had someone _quite_ so dependant on him, especially someone he barely knows.

They collect Heath's bag, which takes a lifetime to pack all of Heath's things- eventually Ricardo has to go through the room item by item and ask Heath if it's his or not, hoping for the best that he hasn't just stolen someone's conditioner or socks or anything else. He's more than relieved that Alberto is a fairly organized man, never leaving his things scattered around like this. That done, they resume their previous stance, Ricardo now a little off balance as he tries to drag his and Heath's bags along, the One Man Rock Band still holding on tightly to his upper arm. "Almost to the parking garage," he says after a few minutes. "Step higher here, there's a ramp." Once they've both safely cleared it, he sighs in relief, enjoying the chilly evening air as it brushes against his skin on the way to the car. "Did you travel in with someone?"

"Yeah," Heath says, distracted. "Drew. He has the keys so it's fine."

Nodding, Ricardo guides him over to his own rental car, looking it over with an appraising glance. "Wait here a moment," he urges, slipping away from Heath once he's leaning against the passenger's side door of the car. He places their bags in the trunk, slamming it shut, before rejoining the other man. "Here," he murmurs, opening the door for him. "Careful." He half-watches, half-guides Heath in, feeling ridiculously like a police officer in one of those cop shows arresting someone. Checking to make sure that Heath's legs are in, he slams the door and moves to the driver's seat.

Heath remains quiet through the drive to the hotel, leaning against the window and unaware of Ricardo glancing over with a frown every couple of blocks. He starts to think that the still man is fast asleep but once they arrive, he sits back up with an exhausted sigh. "Are we here?"

"Yes, we are. I'll get the bags and help you, just hold on a minute." Ricardo is halfway to the trunk when Heath's door clicks open, momentarily panicking before realizing that he's not out of the car, just leaning out with his feet flush against the pavement as he waits. "What are you doing?" he asks once he has the trunk emptied and shut, rejoining Heath.

"It was too quiet in there," he mutters. "I just wanted to... know I wasn't alone." Ricardo's face twists sympathetically as he considers what it must feel like to not be able to see what's going on around you, facing the prospect of _never_ seeing anything ever again. He remains quiet while holding a hand out to help Heath to his feet and then waiting as his grip shifts once more to his upper arm before they begin the walk into the hotel, carefully keeping an eye out once more for anything that could trip Heath up.

Thankfully very few fans are around and the ones that are seem to keep their distance once they see the bandages around Heath's face. Only one takes a step as if to approach them but one of the hotel staff nearby wisely intercepts, stopping them with a polite question about if they'd ever stayed in one of the hotel branch's locations before. It gives Ricardo just enough time to guide Heath over to the elevators, the first one that opens being thankfully empty. "What floor are you on?"

"Five."

He presses the number to take them up to that floor before deciding to get it all over with at once. "Room number?"

"Eighteen."

"We'll be there shortly, and you can rest." As they wait for the car to slowly climb up the floors, the silence becomes more and more unbearable with each passing second. "Are you... does it still hurt?"

"Only when I talk." Ricardo is about to apologize when Heath smiles a little, the bandage crinkling with the movement. "Nah, man. I'm kidding, don't worry about it. I can feel it a little, especially if the gauze brushes against it just so but it's not as bad as it was earlier."

"That's good."

"Yeah." They fall into awkward silence once more as finally the elevator beeps at floor five, Ricardo helping Heath out of the elevator. Room 18 is just to the right of the elevator, so Ricardo eases Heath only a few steps before they're at the door and Heath is holding out the key.

"Do you want me to stay with you until Drew comes back?" the shorter man offers, carefully taking the key card from him and unlocking the door.

Heath appears to be thinking it over as he feels his way into the room, Ricardo hovering around the doorway as he watches to make sure the other man doesn't fall or trip over something. Finally the ginger turns to face him, his hand pressing against the nearest wall in an attempt to ground himself. "Sure," he accepts after a few moments. "Come on in, Ricardo." His smile is a pale imitation of his usual cocky grin but it's better than nothing, considering the circumstances.

The next morning, Heath wakes up to utter darkness. He can tell it's daylight out, birds are chirping and he feels warm from sunshine pouring in through the blinds. He shifts, groaning in confusion, and almost rolls out of the bed while trying to get the sheets off of his face so he can see.

"Whoa, whoa, be careful there," Drew's deeply accented voice chides him as hands grab him by the arms, pushing him back onto the bed.

"I can't see," he chokes, reaching up to bat at the area around his eyes and get whatever's on his eyes away.

"I know, I know." Touch gentling, McIntyre squeezes his shoulders. "You're gonna be fine, though. You'll be in Florida in no time and that specialist will tell you what to do to fix this."

Still tired and groggy, it takes a few moments for this to register with Heath and when it does, he shakes his head. The memories come flooding back and he groans, gripping his hair roughly. "No, no, no. I'm not blind- I'm not, I can't be." He grabs for Drew and gets ahold of his shirt, tugging roughly. "Please tell me it was a prank, please-"

There's an awkward moment as Drew reaches up hesitantly and grabs his wrists, trying to ease some of the pressure on his clothes. "Heath-"

"Please." When Drew says nothing, the visible parts of Heath's face falls. "Oh God," he chokes out, his hands going limp in Drew's. "I'm ruined. I can't- I can't wrestle blind, I can't- I can't do _anything!_"

"That's not true," the Scotsman mutters, uncomfortable and feeling horrible for the broken man before him. "Heath, please, don't talk like this- you can still recover."

"You don't know that." He pulls his hands slowly away and rolls over, facing the window but unable to see the horizon visible through the glass.

Drew watches helplessly as his shoulders shake in quiet sobs, cursing to himself. Unable to witness Heath's breakdown any longer, he pulls himself up and heads for the bathroom, running the water so Heath can't hear him making a quick phone call. "Hey. I have some bad news..."

_Wade Barrett's elbow injury had come at a horrible time- he had been on the prime of winning big at Wrestlemania that year, he could just feel it. It would make up for the two minute match he'd had the year prior, it would make up for everything. But with one off-balanced landing from Dolph Ziggler courtesy of Big Show, he'd hit wrong and screwed his arm up massively. He'd never felt so isolated as he had that night spent in the hospital, being examined and poked and prodded while tests were run to see how bad the injury truly was. At least until his phone had rung around 5 AM that next morning, nurses looking tired and annoyed as they raised an eyebrow warningly at him. _

_He had smiled, charming them with his accent as best as he could while in so much pain, finally talking his way into answering the device very quickly. Upon seeing Heath's name on the screen, he had groaned slightly. "What?"_

_"Good morning to you too, sunshine," his former Corre member's voice had greeted him. "Heard about your injury. That sucks, man."_

_"You always have such a way with words," the Brit sighed, trying and failing to shift to a more comfortable position._

_"Watch it or I won't make this offer after all."_

_"What offer?"_

_"Well, since Smackdown is tomorrow instead of Friday, I'm gonna have a few days off. I know you're gonna need some help for awhile after the surgery... Wade, when we're both back in Florida, why don't you stay at my place, until your arm is healed? Or I can stay at yours, whatever works best for you."_

_It'd been such a ridiculously kind offer that it left Wade spinning for awhile. "Where is this all coming from, Slater?"_

_There had been a breathy sigh that left Barrett deaf for a minute from the accompanying static burst. "I just know most of your family is in England, and I'm just offerin' to help. If not, that's fine, but... just thought I'd ask."_

Despite his impatience with the redhead's hyperactive ways, Wade knows he'll never forget just how willing Heath'd been to help him, so when Drew whispers to him about what'd happened the night before, his heart sinks. "What is he doing now?"

"I think he's losing it," Drew admits, leaning away from the bathroom sink to peek out through the inch he'd left the door open just for this purpose. Heath hasn't moved at all. "I don't know what to do."

"Give him the phone."

Knowing better than to argue, he inches back into the main room and lays the phone down by Heath's ear, quietly slipping out of the room to give them some privacy.

"Heath." He listens with a sober smirk as the bed squeaks, all hotel beds somehow sounding the same. "You there?"

"Wa-Wade?" the younger man mutters, his voice cracking as he fumbles around and, finally finding it, pulls the phone closer to him. "Drew called you?"

"Of course he did. He told me what happened."

"I might... I might be..."

"No. You're not finished, Slater. Please, you're really going to let Marella's ridiculous _cobra _stunts be the end of you? That's not the obnoxious ginger I know." After a moment of silence from the other end, his voice softens. "You're going to be fine, Heath. It's just going to take some time. Do you remember what you told me yesterday?"

"Kinda," he admits, roughly scrubbing at his drenched face. His bandages will need replaced now, but he doesn't really care. It can wait until Drew returns.

"That I was too much of a stubborn arsehole to let one injury hold me down for the rest of my life, or ruin my career. Heath, the same can be said for this situation. It may take some time but if anyone can see again, it'll be you."

Heath's breathing evens out as he listens, shuddering slightly. "I promised I'd help you while you recover," he sighs. "I can't do that now, can I?"

Wade pauses, considering this. "Way I see it," he says finally, "is we both need someone."

"Uh?"

"I may not be able to use my arm that much yet but..." he explains quietly, "I can help you." There's a prolonged pause as Wade weighs his next words, wondering if they'll sound as weird as it is to think them, but finally he mumbles, "I can be your eyes while you'll be my arms."

Heath says nothing for a long moment before finally coming out with a subdued, "Huh." After a few minutes longer, he breathes out heavily. "I think you're right. This could work... probably."

"We'll make it work," Wade nods. "Despite everything, you and I work well together."

"When we want to," the other man mutters.

Chuckling, the Brit hums. "Exactly. When we put our minds to it."

"Alright," Heath sighs. "Well...I guess I'll see you in awhile. I think Drew said something about a flight back to Florida later today."

"See you later then."

As they hang up, Heath drops back against his pillows and waits for Drew to return, the bandages across his face starting to itch uncomfortably as they cling wetly to his face. "I hope this works out," he whispers to the empty room, fists clenching around his bedding. "It hasta..."

Heath hates being back in Florida and not being able to see anything; the blue sky, the golden sand beneath his feet, the wild waves of the ocean, it all means nothing to him. He stays in the house, not even Wade's best sell on the beach- which really, isn't that great, since Wade himself doesn't feel like spending all day on the beach in his sling- breaking through his morose thoughts.

Upon landing in the state, Drew had taken Heath right away to his specialist's appointment, and now they're just waiting for the results of the various tests he had endured for almost two hours.

"How long did the specialist say?" Wade asks, bored of watching Heath sitting on the chair across from the TV, which is left off in consideration of his not being able to see the action.

"A day, two at most," he mumbles. They're barely half through the first and already Heath is losing himself in depression.

"Alright, that's it," Wade decides, clapping his good hand against the table top. As Heath winces at the sudden sound, his other senses slowly sharpening to make up for the lost eyesight, the Brit stops, realizing his gaffe. "I'm sorry. But honestly, we're getting out of here right now. I don't care if you want to or not, us sitting cooped up in this house is doing neither of us favors." Ignoring Heath's scowl, he stands and heads for the bedrooms. "Boodah! Here, boy."

Ten minutes later, a reluctant Heath is being lead by Wade onto the beach within walking distance of the apartment, a pair of sunglasses covering the bandages that the specialist had wrapped around his eyes. Thankfully the acid-like burns around his eyes are healing well so the width of the bandages are much smaller, less noticeable beneath his glasses. Not that it matters; if anyone stares, it's not like he can see them. Wade walks patiently, smiling slightly as Boodah bounds around at their feet, only calming down, his ears drooping, when Heath clicks chidingly at him after almost tripping over the large black dog when he gets too close to his owner's legs.

As soon as they're at the beach and Heath is fumbling around for Boodah's leash, Wade finally handing it over, the ginger encourages the dog closer, wrapping his arms around the dog's neck, murmuring into his coat. They're still sitting there in silence when Heath releases Boodah, smiling sadly as he bounds away, barking at seagulls and whatever else he can find within range of his leash's limitations. Heath's ordinarily very lenient with the dog, letting him off of his leash at random times when on the beach, but with both of them injured, it is obvious that wasn't going to happen today.

Wade is watching the dark blur of Boodah's body bounding this way and that, his smile growing a little as he realizes just how similar the dog and his owner is usually, when Heath clears his throat. "Hey, uh, Wade, if you don't mind..."

"Yeah?"

"De-describe it to me?" His voice is shaky and thick, reminding Wade of how he'd sounded during their phone conversation after Drew had notified him of Heath's injuries. "The beach, and... Boodah... and everything. Please?"

The larger man sighs, nodding. "Of course." He pauses, unsure where to begin. His expertise is, of course, of a physical nature. He can tell an impressive story with his fists or between turnbuckle ropes, but to actually describe the beach, how the waves are pounding against the darkened sand surrounding the ocean, or how Boodah is lunging this way and that, undeterred by his leash as he digs around for crabs or who-knows-what, well... He worries that he'll fail, or not describe it properly, but one look over at Heath's expectant face and he gives up, vowing to at least _try._ "Well," he sighs. "The ocean matches the sky... It's perfect swimming weather," he continues, easing into doing this when Heath doesn't look annoyed or start to yell at him, only wistful as he tilts his head, listening intently. "Boodah keeps digging around when he tires of chasing seagulls." Encouraged further by the tired grin spreading across Heath's face at this, he settles into his explanation, content to sit there in the warm sand and watch Heath's expression as he continues talking softly, prodding along the other man's imagination to at least ease some of the pain of not being able to actually see the gorgeous day around them.

When he runs out of things to describe, Heath is sprawled out across the towel, face turned his way with a small smile spread across his face. He's starting to think the younger man has fallen asleep to his voice but after awhile, he stirs enough to murmur, "Thanks, Wade."

"You're welcome, mate."

After another couple hours in the sun, they return inside and Heath promptly falls asleep on the couch, eased by the medicine given to him for pain and antibiotics issued as a precaution to keep infection out of the wounds around his eyes. Wade watches him for a few minutes before wandering back into his bedroom, feeling around for the lamp. As soon as the artificial light is gleaming against everything, he drops onto the edge of the bed and tangles his fingers in his hair. How Heath had so easily offered to help immediately after Wade's surgery, the Brit's not sure. Being on the other side of it is impossible, the level of agony behind watching someone as full of life as Heath hindered by the loss of his vision surprising the older man. _Please let him recover. _

They're wandering around a strip of shops down the street from the beach, Wade keeping a close watch on Heath whenever they're within sight of a road, when Heath's phone goes off. Both men stop, anxiously looking each other's way despite the inability to lock gazes. Heath winces and fumbles for his pocket, sighing as Wade finds his phone first, puts it on speaker, and presses it into his hand. "Thanks," he mumbles. "Hello?"

"Mr. Slater?" Wade's hand trails up, squeezing Heath's shoulder as fresh tension gathers there. _This is it._

"Yes?" he asks breathlessly, holding the phone so tightly that Wade wonders if it's possible to squash a phone like a vegetable.

"Your results are in. Can you meet me at my office in half an hour?"

"Yes," Wade mutters, Heath quickly echoing the answer.

"Great, I'll see you then."

"See you," he mutters, handing over the phone for Wade to disconnect the call. "That... I don't know what that sounded like."

Wade shakes his head, trying to keep his tone even. "Don't worry, we'll find out soon. Come, we have to leave." He takes a box of WWE action figures- one of Wade's older figures- out of Heath's hands, putting it back on the shelf where he'd found it. As Heath hesitantly grabs his upper arm to follow him out, a small smile forms across his face. "What?"

"That was one of your figures. Right?" Wade's snort is the younger man's only response and he grins. "Knew it!"

"How?" he asks quietly, pulling out his cell phone to call for a taxi while they walk back to the apartments.

"You would be egotistical enough to push off one of your figures on me," he smirks.

"Like you wouldn't be if you actually had a figure."

"Hey, I have figures!" he glowers, his hold on Wade's upper arm slipping as they walk down the road. His lips part slightly when Wade roughly grabs him by the hand, not letting his fingers fall completely away. "Hey, man-"

"We're on the side of a road," he bites out tensely. "Do not let go unless you want to go splat across one of these bonnets."

"Ok, ok, I'm sorry, wasn't thinking."

"You do that too often," he sighs. The rest of the walk home goes quietly, Heath's fingers so tight against Wade's arm that it almost hurts, but he doesn't complain. "Taxi's here."

"Already?" Heath whispers, his step slowing as they near the yellow vehicle.

"Come on, Heath. The sooner we get in, the sooner we'll know."

He shakes his head slowly, tugging on Wade's arm to stop his forward motion. "I... I don't..."

As the Brit turns to stare at him, his gaze softens with sympathy. Despite the wrap across his eyes blocking most of his expression, it's obvious by how he's holding onto him and the twist of his lips that he's uncertain and, probably, more than a little scared. "Heath? Come on, mate," he says softly, voice losing some of its natural edge as he tries to ease his friend into this. "We need to know. Avoiding it won't do anyone any good."

"I know... I know. It's just... what do I do if this is permanent?"

"Then we look for other options; get a second opinion. Third and fourth if we need to. You're gonna be fine." Despite his strong words that eventually get Heath into the taxi, he too feels nervous as, upon arriving, they're ushered right away into the doctor's office, Wade immediately impressed and somewhat put to ease by calm, earthy colors decorating the office, a wall of degrees and awards granted to the office over the years. He shouldn't be surprised, WWE's selection of specialists usually top notch.

Heath, of course, can't see any of this and so the pale, almost sick, look remains on his face as he drops down into a chair and tangles his hands in his shirt hem. Wade settles in next to him, still examining the office. "What's it look like?" he mumbles, turning his face towards his former leader.

Wade sighs, a sad sort of smile forming across his face. "It's very nice," he acknowledges. "You're in good hands here."

A moment later, the doctor, a middle aged man with greying brown hair and sharp green eyes, enters, scanning over some files in his hand. If he'd heard Heath and Wade's muttered conversation, he doesn't acknowledge it, simply looking up with a smile. "Oh, hello. I am Dr. Howes," he introduces himself to Wade. After a brisk handshake, he turns back to Heath. "Hello, Mr. Slater. How are you today?"

"Hi, Dr. Howes," he greets him. "Oh, uh, same ol'." He blanches, waiting impatiently as the doctor moves around his desk and settles into the wide office chair. As soon as he's seated, Heath leans forward. "I can't wait another second, doc. What's the verdict?"

Wade rolls his eyes with a slight smile as Howes looks at them, weighing Heath's words. "I've gone over your results and even had an associate take a look to see if he agrees. You'll need to keep the bandages on awhile longer but we both agree that, with the proper care, there is a very good chance that you will regain your eyesight."

Heath's whole body goes limp with relief so suddenly that he almost falls out of the chair and Wade has to support him with his good arm, his own smile wide and brilliant. "Thank you, Doc," the West Virginia native finally chokes out as Barrett squeezes his shoulder, nodding his agreement to the doctor.

He sits there in a daze while Wade addresses the doctor, his smile fading slightly. "Do we have a timeline for this, Dr. Howe?"

"We'll check every few days, and add more medicated eyedrops as needed, but for now all Heath can really do is rest and let the medicine work. We'll monitor him closely, to make sure everything is going well."

Wade nods. "Alright. Thank you, Dr. Howe."

"If you have any more questions or concerns, here is my personal number," the doctor says calmly, handing over a card to Wade. "Feel free to call at any time, either of you."

Wade nods, pushing the card into his pocket before turning to his friend. "Ready to go, Heath?" At the younger man's nod, he stands and nudges him until he gets to his feet as well.

"Thank you, Dr. Howe," Heath mutters with the first truly hopeful smile Wade's seen on his face since he'd arrived in Florida.

"You're welcome, Heath. Go see the nurse and she'll tell you when we want you back in again."

That night, Wade and Heath go to the other's man apartment so he can collect some clothes and things; they're still staying at Heath's apartment until after the surgery, waiting for Heath's eyesight to return before he starts staying in a place he doesn't really know. Heath's feeling his way around Wade's apartment, frowning as he tries once more to memorize where the living room entrance falls opposite the kitchen. _If my eyesight takes awhile to come back and I'm gonna help him after his surgery, I need to be able to get around without constantly buggin' him..._ He's a fingertip away from the doorframe when he hears Wade talking, his interest piqued when he hears Santino's name.

"...Marella could've ended his career. There's still a slight chance... Either you do something about it or I'll personally go to the WWE board and do something about _you._ Understand me?" Heath winces as the phone call is ended roughly, the cell phone thrown nearby and causing him to jerk as it hits the wall not far from his head.

He tries to take a step back to get away before Wade realizes he's overheard but he stumbles on a slippery rug and only catches himself on the wall, making an impressive amount of noise just to save himself.

"...Slater?"

"Ye-yeah," he confirms awkwardly, feeling his way into the room. "Uh, yeah. Hey."

"You heard that?"

"Yeah. I wasn't eavesdropping, it just... kinda happened."

Wade seems unbothered by it as he stands, easing Heath over to the couch so he can stop trying to feel his way around. _Hopefully Dr. Howe was correct and he doesn't need to continue trying to memorize my apartment's layout by feel alone._ As he moves away to collect his surprisingly intact phone with his good arm, he throws over his shoulder: "Marella's getting suspended for ten days and referees will be checking his Cobra each week to make sure it doesn't have a spraying mechanism. This isn't going to happen ever again, to anyone."

A ten day suspension seems slight, especially to Heath right now, but he figures if all goes well he'll be back by then, with his vision in tact, and could get revenge all on his own. "You convinced Teddy to do that?"

"It was nothing," he dismisses, joining Heath on the couch.

"Sure man," Heath says with a roll of his eyes that Wade can picture despite the gauze blocking his eyes from sight. "Either way..." He sighs a few moments later, smile playing along his lips. "Thanks."

Wade watches him from the corner of his eye, shrugging. "You're welcome."

The next few days pass by in a haze of doctor's appointments for both of them, Heath's appointments to get his eyes checked and dressing changed and Wade's to prepare for his surgery which would be had at the end of the week taking alternating days. Thankfully the surgery is scheduled only a couple doors down from Dr. Howe's office, so they separate at the building, Heath reluctant to completely abandon Wade. "I'll come over as soon as I can," he promises, one hand on the door to ground himself, remind himself which way to go.

"I'll be fine, Slater," Wade says in a dismissive fashion. "You just go do what you have to. And don't run into any walls."

"Hey, I haven't done that since the first day... much," he grumbles, smiling slightly as Wade chuckles at him. "Good luck, man."

"You too." They separate then, Wade taking a deep breath as some of his well-hidden nervousness brims over. His chances at making it to Wrestlemania depends completely on what's found during this surgery. Heath doesn't make it back in time and he's left wondering what the hold up is as he slips under, barely able to make it to 95 before the drugs take hold.

He feels groggy and in some pain as he awakens what feels like a long time later, squinting against a bright light overhead. Soft murmurs nearby ease up, footsteps wandering around the bed before the light is dimmed, leaving him in a blissfully quiet, shadowy room. Blinking again, his vision clears up some and he recognizes what can only be the slightly blurry form of Heath sitting by his bed, the ridiculous orange hair a dead give away even in this half light. "Hey," he forces out, relieved as his former Corre mate holds a glass of water close to his lips, steadying the straw so he can drink slowly.

"'Bout time you woke up, man. It was gettin' boring around here." He smirks as Wade rolls his eyes at him.

Realizing something, Wade pulls away from the straw and stares at him. "You saw that," he realizes. "You... you don't have bandages on any more."

"Yep!" Heath sits back and grins, blinking a couple of times himself. "My vision isn't a hundred percent yet or anything, and Dr. Howes suggests I wear sunglasses any time I'm out and about for awhile, no matter what the weather's doing, just to make sure I don't put much more strain on 'em, but he says it's promising and looks like I'll be good to go soon. They wanna check me out next week, but I have eyedrops I can put in at home now."

"I'm happy for you," Wade says sincerely, shifting and wincing as pain stabs up his arm.

Heath notices immediately. "I'll get a nurse in here to give you somethin' for that."

"Wait, wait, Heath," Wade calls out before he can reach the door. "Do you know... how did my surgery go?"

Freezing, Slater turns to look at him. "Ah..."

"What do you know?" he snaps, immediately put on edge by the expression on Heath's face. "Tell me now."

Looking back outside into the hall hopefully, Heath sighs, his shoulders slumping. He knows Wade well enough to know he's not going to get out of this one. Shutting the door tightly behind him, he rejoins Wade, staring at the immobilized arm for a moment before beginning to speak. "The injury was worse than they thought," he starts hesitantly. While he goes into more details, trying to explain it the way the nurse and doctor had explained it to him, his heart sinks as Wade visibly begins to shut himself off more and more. "Between rehab and all, they think... well..."

"Spit it out, Heath," he says dully.

"Full recovery time will take at least four months." This barely garners a nod, worrying Heath all the more. He leans forward. "But hey, hey. The offer stands, alright? Especially now that I can see well enough to really honestly help you. I'll hang around, and keep you company and help you with rehab when the time comes. It'll work out, man. You'll see."

Wade grimaces. "I don't know, Slater. Unless you want to be target practice on bad days, which will probably be more frequent than good days, you should not even offer such things."

"But I am. It's the least I can do after everything you've done for me this past week," he shrugs. "So what can I do for ya, right here, right now? Get the nurse for ya? Anything else?"

Wade stares at him, taking in his sincerity. "Where's my phone then?" Watching as Heath's face lights up at the subtle acceptance of his offer makes it almost worth it.

As Heath sits at the edge of the bed, typing painstakingly into Twitter Wade's intentions to take a hiatus from the social media site for a few months, which would end up being the Internet's first hint that the surgery didn't go as planned, squinting at times when his eyes blur up worse on him, the small screen not helping much at all, Barrett watches him. He finally finishes, turning towards him. "Here ya go," he says, holding up the device. As Wade reads it over, nodding his approval, a nurse comes in with some pain medicine.

Heath quickly sends it before hiding the phone in his pocket, smiling innocently as she looks at him suspiciously before moving to tend to her patient. Wade shakes his head chidingly at the younger man before turning his attention to her.

It's definitely going to be a long few months of recovery for Barrett, but if anyone can keep it interesting, it'll be Heath.


End file.
